


a kind of point-of-no-return thing

by you_idjits



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Actual disgusting fluff, Cas runs a Christmas tree farm, Christmas, M/M, Written for the Destiel Advent Calendar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2834600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_idjits/pseuds/you_idjits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas runs a Christmas tree farm, and Dean is the last customer on Christmas Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a kind of point-of-no-return thing

“White Christmas my ass,” Dean grumbles. He sludges through the gray slush, boots sinking in with each step. So it’s snowing, yeah, and it’s Christmas Eve, yeah, but it’s awful. People always talk about snow as this picturesque thing, soft and flaky and bright, bright white. Which sure, maybe it is sometimes. Except Kansas snow is wet and clumpy and generally unpleasant. For everyone.

Dean promised to do Christmas right this year, for Sam, but he’s starting to regret that. That promise brought him here, through snow and ice, to a Christmas tree farm in the middle of nowhere. He can feel his heart shrinking two sizes smaller with every step.

And then the old Winchester luck comes through, and he makes it to the front office of the farm twelve minutes after closing. “Shit,” he says. “Fucking what the fuck, shit.” It’s Christmas Eve and he doesn’t have a Christmas tree. Sam and Jess and Bobby and Jody and Charlie and Dorothy are all coming over tomorrow and he doesn’t have a tree.

“Shit,” he says again, and punches the doorframe of the very-very-locked front door. Benny recommended the farm, because apparently the proprietor grows the best Christmas trees in the state (and who can even tell, really?), so he came all the way out. Except now it’s cold and dark and way too late to go anywhere else, and he still doesn’t have a tree. He kicks the door.

Except the door opens, and Dean loses his balance and goes staggering forward. Right into the arms of the guy behind the door.

“Sorry, man, I’m really sorry,” Dean says, throwing his hands on the guy’s chest to steady himself. He straightens and finds himself staring at a pair of very big, very blue eyes. “Um,” he says. Coughs. “Hi.”

“We’re closed,” the man says. He’s got this voice, shit. It’s just. Dean didn’t think he had any heat left in his body, not in this weather, but suddenly his face feels very, very warm.

“Yeah. I. I can see that.”

“It’s Christmas Eve.” And neither of them has moved, Dean still has his hands on the guy’s chest, and he still has his hands on Dean’s arms. “Do you need a tree?”

Dean stutters backward, feet slipping on ice. “Yes! Yes. A tree. For Christmas. Which is tomorrow, you’re right.”

The man looks over Dean’s shoulder, out to the snow and the dark and the open road. He sighs. “Fine. Come on through; I’ll find you a tree.”

“Thank you,” Dean says, digs his feet into the doormat. “I’m Dean. By the way.”

“Castiel,” he throws over his shoulder, and Dean stumbles to follow. “We have to be quick. First tree we see, okay?”

“Yes, of course, thank you so much,” Dean says. “You are so awesome, uh, Castiel. Cas. Is it okay if I call you Cas?”

Castiel stops, mid-step. People always say mid-step and stuff, but it never actually happens in real life. Except here they are, Cas has one foot in the air, and Dean starts thinking he’s said something wrong.

“I mean- Castiel’s fine too, I was just thinking- it’s a mouthful, that’s all. Not that- shit. I mean. It’s a good name. Weird, but. Not that that’s a bad thing! Weird is good! Different.”

Cas turns, slowly, and squints at Dean. “Cas is fine,” he says, cautiously, like he’s trying it out. There’s this moment, where they’re staring at each other and Dean’s pretty sure his heart gives out. Twenty-seven is way too young for a heart attack, he thinks. He’s gonna have to get open-heart surgery and go bankrupt over hospital bills and scare the daylights out of Sam and it’s all gonna be because of this guy and his goddamn blue scarf.

“So,” he says, swallows thickly. “Trees.”

“Trees,” Cas agrees, nods seriously, and turns. He leads Dean through the office and out the back door, into the cold of a forest. Well, it looks like a forest, except the trees are all in neat rows, groomed and trimmed and frosty white with snow.

“So you grow these yourself?” Dean asks. “I mean, my friend Benny said this farm was, like, famous. I figured it’d be some old guy with a Santa Claus beard doing the-”

“It’s a family business,” Cas explains. “My father started it. He was a big fan of the holiday season.”

“Oh, that’s, that’s cool. Mine… wasn’t.”

Cas gives him a look, quick and confused. But he doesn’t ask, and Dean really likes that.

“What kind of tree are you looking for?” he asks instead.

Dean scans the trees – the sky is the color of an ink pen, and it leaks into the trees, making everything the same shade of dark. He can’t pick out any individual trees. “I don’t know,” he says. “Just a good one? My brother, he’s got this fiancée, and she’s great, but she’s like… hardcore about Christmas. Knits everyone sweaters and decorates cookies and shit. The other day, she made a snowman. An actual snowman, with a corncob pipe. Shit, I didn’t think people did that anymore.”

“Okay,” Cas says, like he’s not sure where this is going. Dean isn’t either.

“So, like, Sam – that’s my brother – he’s getting really into the holiday spirit too. Which is weird, because we never, as kids, we never- yeah. He asked me to get a tree, and I’m gonna do a big dinner tomorrow for him and Jess and our friends. But I’ve never. Uh. I’ve never had a Christmas tree before.”

Cas looks at him, and everything in this forest is dark except for his smile. He’s got this dumb blue-and-green beanie on, with a white pom-pom and snowmen and- yeah. Dean feels himself going down a really bad path here, a kind of point-of-no-return thing.

“Then we’ll have to find you a good one,” Cas says. Dean thinks about doing something stupid, like taking his hand – Christ, he hasn’t known the guy five minutes – but he doesn’t.

“Okay,” Dean says. Cas starts walking down one of the rows, stopping to inspect each tree with a kind of clinical professionalism. “What about you? I mean. I guess you guys always had a Christmas tree, huh? Probably the best one on the farm.”

Cas kneels to prod at the base of a tree. “No. We haven’t had a tree in years.”

“What?” Dean splutters. “But you’re- you’re in Christmas-tree-central. You’re at the fucking North Pole of Christmas trees.”

There’s a long silence, and Dean’s thinking maybe he shouldn’t have asked. Cas stands up. He says, “My father died, many years ago. He was always the one to pick out and decorate the tree, because he knew the trees best. It would be… wrong. To go through the motions without him.”

And Dean gets that. Dean’s the king of avoiding holes his father left behind.

Cas smiles, softly, and then he turns back to his trees. He pats a baby tree and says, “What do you think of this one?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that looks great. Whatever you say.”

“Okay,” Cas says. He reaches into his trench coat and pulls out an axe. Wait. What the fuck? Who carries an _axe_ in the inside pocket of their coat? Dean takes it, numbly, when Cas holds it out. “It’s a tradition,” Cas explains. “If you want the tree, you have to cut it down yourself.”

“Oh. Okay. Yeah.” Dean looks at his tree, then back to the axe. He tugs his green mittens on a little tighter.

“I’ll get you some hot chocolate,” Cas says, and he moves back towards the front office.

So Dean works on his tree. His nose goes pink, and then the tips of his ears. He licks his lips. Takes another swing. The tree is small, and it goes down easily. By the time Cas comes back with a steaming to-go cup, Dean’s got the tree chopped and over his shoulder.

Oh.  A to-go cup. Right, because he’s gonna drive back to Lawrence now, and Cas is gonna close up the Christmas tree farm, and that’ll be it.

“So,” Cas says.

“So.”

“Good luck with your Christmas tree.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. He breathes out, shakily, and the breath curls misty in front of his face. He thinks for a bit. “Your family, then. You don’t celebrate Christmas much?”

“Not anymore. Most of my siblings moved away.”

He thinks for a bit longer. Stares at Cas, at his small smile, at the way his fingers curl around the to-go cup. His fingers are ruddy from the cold. He’s looking at Dean like he’s waiting for something, and that’s what really does it.

Dean shifts. He feels his boots sink even further into the snow. Shit. “I’m gonna give you my number,” he says. “And then, tomorrow, if you want to, you could. I mean. There’s space at my table for one more. It’s gonna be good. I’m gonna make pie, and stuff. Carve the roast beast.”

Cas is still looking at him, and he’s got this little furrow in his brow. Dean wonders what kind of pie he likes best. Wonders if he opened his presents on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning as a kid. Wonders which side of the bed he sleeps on.

“Is that weird?” Dean asks, when the silence goes on for too long. “I mean, we just met. Shit. That is weird, isn’t it? I just thought, if you weren’t-”

“No,” Cas says. “I mean- yes. Yes, I would like that, Dean. Very much.”

“Okay,” Dean says. He dumps the Christmas tree, tugs Cas forward, and kisses him.

Cas drops the hot chocolate to put his hands on the back of Dean’s head. He tastes like candy canes, lips sticky-sweet and giving. Dean wraps his arms around his waist, leans into the kiss. Cas steps on his toes but it’s okay. Actually, it’s better than okay. Actually, it’s pretty awesome.

When they pull back, Cas’s lips and cheeks are pink, and there’s snow in his hair. Maybe the snow isn’t as bad as Dean thought. Cas reaches up to fix Dean’s hat, and then he presses a kiss to the corner of Dean’s lips.

Yeah, Dean thinks. It’s gonna be a merry Christmas after all.

 

 

 

.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Lauren](http://laurenofsteel.tumblr.com/) for the fantastic art. I am terrible with deadlines, but you managed to hold me to mine. Thank you as well, of course, to [Tasha](http://kraziiisme.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Crossposted on [tumblr](http://shootingstarcas.tumblr.com/post/105984426351/kind-of-a-point-of-no-return-thing-ao3-written)


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